


Der letzte Kuss

by Wahnsinn



Series: Rammstein one-shots [7]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn
Summary: The last kiss on stage.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Rammstein one-shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730041
Comments: 19
Kudos: 31





	Der letzte Kuss

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags. Warning for implied major character death.

“Imagine dying on the stage.” Richard smiled wearily, as he lay on the huge metal platform, his head resting in Till’s lap.

Till ran his fingers gently through the black hair of his bandmate, friend, and husband. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Don’t tell me that’s too morbid for Till Lindemann.” Richard let out a small laugh.

“Hah. Not at all,” Till chuckled. “If you want to talk about it, we can.”

Richard looked out at the huge stadium. The speaker towers stood proudly, ready to blast out music, the B-stage an island during ebb, just waiting for the ocean of people to flow in and surround it again. “Do you ever regret leaving your job as a basket weaver?” he asked, remembering how he would sit and smoke while watching Till sing as he worked. Till had seemed so relaxed when he wove baskets, his big hands expertly doing impressively delicate work, his voice the most beautiful Richard had heard.

“I was a damn good basket weaver,” Till pointed out.

“You were. But you’re a damn good singer, too.”

Till fell quiet for a while, staring out at the empty arena. “I wouldn’t say good, but we must have done something right,” he mused.

Richard nodded. Ever since he was a child, he had known he wanted to be a rock star. He remembered the looks he had gotten when he dared saying it out loud, how people had laughed at him. Sven Kruspe, the boy with silly dreams of stardom, the illusions of grandeur. Life back then had been rough, but looking back, that made him work so much harder to achieve his goals.

He shifted a bit, turning his head to look into Till’s eyes. Richard had always thought Till had the most wonderful eyes. He could drown in the depths of them, and the shape often made them look a bit sad, but that was part of what made the man so unique.

When he first met Till in Schwerin, he could never have imagined the road they would walk together. They were just friends that sometimes played together when Till’s guitarist didn’t show up, which happened quite frequently.

“You used to say I looked like a chipmunk,” Richard smiled.

Till got a surprised look on his face, then burst out in laughter. “You did look like one!” he said, running his fingers through the short, spiky hair again. “A very cute chipmunk, too. Too bad you never went back to that hairstyle.”

Richard huffed, pretending to be offended. “Says the man who never went back to being bald,” he retorted.

“I don’t think it was the Mutter hairstyle - or lack thereof - that made you love me, little Scholle,” Till said, and gave Richard a kiss when he tried to fake pout.

Then again, at that time, Richard hadn’t really loved anyone in the band. He had reached his goal of becoming a rock star and quieted the laughter of the people in his hometown. Yet stardom had been harder than he thought it would be. Rammstein had been a group of friends that suddenly turned colleagues with six different opinions on how to do the job. The constant power struggle, discussions, and fighting had been exhausting, and it had culminated as they recorded Mutter. Richard had thought about quitting so many times.

He never did.

Deep down, he knew that Till was part of the reason why he stayed for all those years. Till was the one person he never really fought with. While the man’s temper could run high, especially when equipment didn’t function, Till was the kindest and most conflict shy man Richard knew. Long before Emigrate became a thing, he wrote a song for himself and Till. When he fled to New York City, he still stayed in touch with his long-time friend. And after Emigrate was established, had released two albums, and he had moved back to Berlin, he finally asked Till if he wanted to sing with him.

Richard had been nervous when he called his friend to ask. Till said yes. There had only been one other time in his life when he had been more nervous. Till said yes that time, too.

Shifting a bit again, he turned his head so he could take in the scent of his husband. “Comfortable?” Till asked, and Richard hummed, smelling the familiar, comforting smell of the man he loved. While Richard wore his heart on his sleeve. Till had tucked his away in a well-protected, secret room that it took years for Richard to find. 

In fact, he had stumbled over it by accident. When Till got ill and ended up in intensive care, Richard had realised how much he needed the man in his life. That’s when he promised himself to spend more time with his friend. At the start it meant stopping by to help with groceries while Till recovered. Then, during rehearsals, he made a point out of talking to Till during each break. And when Rammstein recorded what they jokingly called their quarantine album, the two of them often stayed up late, just two friends enjoying each other’s company.

Except Richard didn’t want to be just friends anymore.

Too scared to bring it up, he kept it inside him until the second leg of the Stadium tour. As Till stalked off after each concert with a trail of girls following him, Richard became more and more frustrated until one day, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Bursting into Till’s dressing room, he screamed “Why do you have to fuck every girl alive!” while a golden figure quickly disappeared out of the room. Then he threw the first glass he could find at Till, only to realise it was made of hard plastic.

Till had looked at him with a sad expression before handing him a cup. “This one will break,” he said, and Richard had looked down at the stupid cup in his hands before sinking to his knees, hanging his head in shame from having lost control.

Richard hadn’t expected Till to sit down and wrap his strong arms around him. “Because I can’t have the one I want,” he said, sadness in his voice. “Girls are a distraction. Besides, it’s not every girl alive. I do have some standards.”

Richard hadn’t found the joke amusing. “Then who is it then, that the almighty Till Lindemann can’t have?” he spat out, staring angrily into the blue abyss that was Till’s eyes.

That’s where he found his answer.

Richard unlocked the secret room that he didn’t even know existed until then. And once Till let him in, he found a love more intoxicating than any drug he had ever tried. All he knew was that there was no way he would or could ever let it go.

Subconsciously, Richard touched his ring. When Till said yes, he had shaken so badly that he was unable to put the ring on his finger. Till had just laughed and told him that he didn’t need a ring. “I’m yours for as long as you will have me,” he said, kissing Richard until he stopped shaking, and then some more.

That was when they had started making plans. Just one more tour, the biggest they had ever done, with more of everything. A new stage, with enormous structures on each side in addition to the huge centre tower. “Then we retire and live happily ever after,” Till had smiled.

“You know I have to be creative,” Richard protested.

“You can be creative in bed,” Till replied. Richard had rolled his eyes, but deep down, he had found the thought kind of pleasant - just him and Till and the rest of their lives.

And when the final tour started, Richard had come to look forward to retirement. Maybe that was why he was able to relax on tour and just enjoy himself every night, playing in front of thousands of fans that always seemed to cry once the concerts were over. Their emotions touched Richard. For once in his life he felt accomplished. He had been able to give something to so many people, and it was overwhelming.

“I guess it’s time for our fans to cry again soon,” Richard said, but regretted it when he saw the look in Till’s eyes.

He sighed, and turned his head towards the empty stadium. “We’ve had a good run, haven’t we? And I would do it all again in a heartbeat. The only thing I would change, is…” Richard’s voice thickened. “I wouldn’t have waited so long before I told you I love you. Because I do. I love you, Till.”

Till cradled his husband in his arms. “I love you too, Richard. I wish I had words to tell you just how much.”

“Till…” Richard looked into his partner’s sad eyes again. “You have shown me that every day we have been together. I have never been as happy as I have been with you.”

The words of love hung in the air. The two of them spent a few moments in silence, just existing together. Richard lifted his hand to press his palm against Till’s chest. He could feel his husband’s heart beating, he could hear him breathe.

Shivering a little, Richard closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply. “I think I’m ready.”

Tears formed in Till’s eyes as he nodded at the others, and they moved closer, holding Richard to let him know they were with him as well for as long as they could. Taking Richard’s hands, Till glanced at the straps that were fastened to the massive structure that had fallen and crushed his husband’s entire lower body during his sound check, pinning him to the stage. That same structure was now the only thing that kept him alive, but only for as long as it remained in place.

Till looked at Richard again. The man seemed so calm and peaceful with his eyes closed. Leaning down, Till gave him one last, loving kiss before signalling to the crane operator.

“I’m scared,” Richard said, his voice almost a whisper. “Could you please sing for me, Till? I’d like your beautiful voice to be the last thing I hear.”

Till swallowed. Clutching Richard’s hands a little harder, he started singing, his voice loud and clear, accompanied only by soft sobs and the sound of the engine of the crane starting up.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a fiction that got stuck in my head and I needed to get it out.


End file.
